


A Spy's Full Arsenal

by venvephe



Series: The Snowglobe Series [10]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 11,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: A collection of drabbles, ficlets, and one-shots originally prompted and posted on Tumblr. All in once place, for easy reading!





	1. Hartwin: Exquisite Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! 
> 
> With the (apparent, eventual) fall of tumblr, I've been wanting to make sure all of my ficlets, drabbles, and smaller one-shots that were originally written and posted there to be backed up to the archive. Turns out there's a _ton_ of smaller Kingsman things I've written that didn't end up already in The Snowglobe Series, so to prevent my works list from being flooded with smaller, under 1k works, I'm posting them all in one piece here, as different chapters. I'll do my best to keep chapter titles to the pairing and prompt, and provide additional tags as necessary in each chapter.
> 
> I'm probably not coming back to write in Kingsman fandom aside from the larger fic(s) I want to finish, but I'm still happy to share these here - it was a fun trip rereading and formatting these to archive them! :)
> 
> Happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Kissing, oral fixation, oral sex, smut, expensive tastes.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Harry Hart, Eggsy learns very quickly, is a man of exquisite tastes.

More than just the suits - which are very fine indeed, Kingsman-made - Harry favors wines that have prices with so many zeros Eggsy’s eyebrows climb up his forehead, wine that needs to be decanted before you can drink it. Harry lectures him on the nuances of imported cheese, one day as they stroll after lunch, and the day after that, on what makes for the perfect chip with your fish. It makes Eggsy smile as much as it boggles his mind, how much there is to know and how much there is to taste - well, except for the chip bit, because he’s had a fair amount in his day and can agree with Harry about the right combination of vinegar and grease. But then Harry tells him about the subtle differences in flavor of chocolate from different parts of the world, the importance of using the right glass for your scotch, the delicate balance between salty and sweet when making caramel.

And then, one day, as Eggsy samples the pastry cream from the inside of an eclair with the flat of his tongue, Harry’s eyes go wide and dark - and the door to Harry’s house is barely closed before Eggsy learns that Harry’s exquisite taste apparently extends to him, too.

Harry walks him backwards with gentle hands on his hips, amazingly coordinated compared to Eggsy’s clumsy blundering - but to be fair, Eggsy’s never been snogged like this in his life. Harry’s mouth is hot and soft, his tongue dipping inside to taste Eggsy’s when Eggsy gasps and parts his lips. He lands on the seat of the sofa with a muffled thump, and Harry doesn’t miss a beat - just follows him down, bends until his knees are on either side of Eggsy’s parted thighs, kisses him like it’s better than breathing.

Eggsy can’t help but moan; Harry’s tongue curls around his as he licks into Eggsy’s mouth, so thorough and wet, their lips sliding together again and again until he’s dizzy with it. Harry’s insistent, but charmingly so - and Eggsy meets his enthusiasm with his own eagerness, enjoying the chance to taste Harry for himself. The flavor of his lunchtime dessert - something with raspberries, Eggsy hadn’t been too bothered to pay attention to Harry’s lecture about the presence of fruit in one’s pastry because Harry was wearing the bespoke pinstripe again, which was distracting enough - still lingers in Harry’s mouth, and grins when he manages to turn the tables, get a taste. He nibbles at Harry’s lower lip, slips his tongue inside to tease at Harry’s own tongue. But Harry gives as good as he gets, and by the time they pull apart for air Eggsy’s quivering, his nerves alight and skin warm and pants tight - just from their snogging.

That’s when Harry eases down and off the sofa, carefully onto the floor - and, without breaking eye contact, leans in to nuzzle at Eggsy’s tenting jeans, runs his cheek along the obvious hardness of Eggsy’s cock, breathes in the scent of him there. Eggsy watches as Harry’s pupils blow wide and he licks his lips, swallowing thickly as Harry’s eyes flicker down to watch the movement.

“May I?” Harry asks, voice lower and rougher than Eggsy’s ever heard, fingers inching towards Eggsy’s waistband and curling underneath it, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just below Eggsy’s navel.

Eggsy thumps his head back against the sofa’s cushions, moaning, “Fuck, Harry, yes-” because just the sight of Harry eye-level with his cock is doing more than enough for him, and he can barely watch as Harry shimmies Eggsy’s jeans down his hips, peels back his straining boxer-briefs with the thinly-veiled anticipation of - well, of a man unwrapping his favorite dessert. He’s seen the look on Harry before - though usually at one of Harry’s favorite fine dining establishments, not in Harry’s sitting room with the man himself on his _knees_. He looks hungry, his eyes more black than brown at this point, a faint flush on his face and his lips parted ever-so-slightly. Eggsy shivers when he’s fully exposed, cock pressing up against his belly, wet and drooling at the head already.

It’s Harry’s turn to lick his lips, and Eggsy bites his lip, heart thundering in his chest as Harry smiles at him, pets his inner thigh with one large hand before leaning in for a proper taste.

Eggsy can barely string two thoughts together after that, but Harry’s thorough demonstration is more than enough to prove that yes, Harry does have exquisite tastes.

Or, at least, he’s mastered how to use his tongue.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	2. Merlin: Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> (Supposed) character death, grief.  
> 

 

When Harry steps out into the sunlight, into the bright Kentucky afternoon, the feed in his glasses goes white for a moment, catching the glare of the sun.

Valentine is there, waiting with Gazelle and a pair of henchmen in the gravel parking lot. As Harry had probably expected - as Merlin had expected. The feed briefly pans left and right as Harry glances to either side, a visible indication of his mind running through possible escape routes - but there are none. Harry’s still quietly trembling, besides, and his gaze locks on Richmond Valentine. Harry lifts his arms and lets them drop back to his sides, exhaustion obvious in his voice as the feed catches his words, steady and preternaturally calm as he confronts the architect behind the massacre that has just occurred.

“What did you do to me?” Merlin hears Harry ask. “I had no control. I killed all those people - I _wanted_ to.”

Valentine nods, and grins, and launches into a simplistic explanation of his maniacal, havoc-wrecking invention - but it isn’t until he says, “You know what it’s like? It’s like those old movie we both love,” that Merlin’s blood runs cold. Because less than a minute later, his face morphs from vaguely smug and knowing to unamused, sharp, dangerous - and after “Well, it’s not that kind of movie,” he levels a pistol at Harry’s head and pulls the trigger.

The feed echoes with static for a moment, the electronics responding to the percussive sound of the shot so close - and the video jerks, shows Valentine’s firm expression and Gazelle over his shoulder for the flicker of a moment before it tilts upward, up at the bright blue of the sky and stays there, unmoving, as Merlin’s heart pounds in his ears.

There are strains of a muted conversation between Gazelle and Valentine filtering in from the audio, but the sound is indistinct, muffled to Merlin’s ears as he stares at his monitor, at the video feed streaming from Harry’s cracked glasses. Hazy gray-white clouds marble the blue Kentucky sky; the trees above shift with a gentle, rustling breeze, and faraway - like in a dream - he hears the crunch of footsteps as Valentine and his cronies walk away, leaving Harry’s body on the gravel in front of the little white church.

Merlin doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink; there’s a heaviness settling in his chest just as his heart kicks up a notch in tempo, the urge to run - to fight, to do something singing in his veins. But there’s nothing to be done. The vitals sensors in Harry’s glasses must have gotten damaged when - when Harry fell, as they’re sending no readings, but Merlin has the experience of nearly thirty years as an agent, more than ten of those as the Kingsmen’s coordinator and quartermaster. The cold weight in his gut is more than his intuition telling him that Harry’s - gone.

He can feel his body and mind in conflict, pulling in different directions. It was so sudden - though now the moment drags on in his mind, unstoppable and inevitable as soon as he saw the curl of Valentine’s lip and the glint of the gun in the sunlight - and his heart’s still racing, rising to the rush of adrenaline of _fight or flight._ An understandable physical reaction, given the circumstances. He can divorce himself enough from his own body to catalog what’s happening.

But his mind is another matter. There’s a shredded piece of him unwilling to believe what he’s just seen, clawing desperately at hope that Harry will sit up and say something ridiculous and dry to Merlin; that in less than a week’s time he’ll be striding though the doors of the Kingsman base and Merlin will be able to look up from his coffee and monitors and say, “You’re late again, Galahad,” as he’s done for the past twenty years. He and Harry have served together in Kingsman longer than almost any other agent - Harry had taken up the mantle of Galahad only two years after Merlin himself had joined the organization. Kingsman isn’t the same without Harry Hart.

Kingsman isn’t _Kingsman_ without Harry Hart.

There’s already grief clawing at his throat, choking and heavy, coming up and settling in his nose and the back of his throat tighter than a noose. He can barely swallow, blinking at the sky on the screen and willing the tremors to leave his hands. Merlin draws a breath, chest hollow and bones brittle in the wake of the cold surge of adrenaline, and he wavers. He has to shove this down, lock down his anger and grief and fear and _haterageloss_ for now. He has to be _Merlin_ , has to be the support and guide to get Kingsman through this - to get himself through this - before he allows himself to break down.

There will be a time to grieve, there will be a time to bury Harry and give him the honors befit of a Kingsman. There will be time to share a brandy with his fellow agents - and Eggsy, who he can hear shouting at the screen in front of Harry’s home terminal, disbelief and rage in the cracking of his voice - and time to let his grief consume him with its cold fingers and cut-glass edges.

But that time will come later, has to come later; because Valentine has just proven himself as a villain and killed Merlin’s best friend; there’s no way he’s letting Valentine take the rest of the world, too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	3. Hartwin: Domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Domesticity, intimacy, sick!fic.

 

Harry is a terrible patient.

Eggsy shouldn’t be as surprised as he is; he knows Harry - quite intimately, in fact - and being a terrible patient is completely in line with his personality. He can be stubborn, to a fault - despite taking orders or directions, which he does only if he believes them to be in line with his own beliefs and moral code - and has trouble accepting help if he thinks the task at hand is something he should be able to accomplish on his own.

“But you don’t have to do it on your own,” Eggsy tells him from behind the closed guest room door, the second day of Harry’s self-inflicted, flu-motivated isolation. “Let me take care of you, you berk.”

“I shan’t be getting you sick, too,” Harry replies, muffled through the closed door and the stuffy nose he’s suffering, which makes his nasal, miserable complaints all the weaker.

Eggsy lets him stew in his misery for a few more hours before deliberately disobeying Harry’s instructions to stay away; he knows how to pick a lock, after all, knew that before he was recruited to Kingsman. He strides into the guest room purposefully, enjoying the surprise on Harry’s face as he carries in a tray with steaming tea and biscuits and nasal decongestants. He perches on the bed at Harry’s side, keeping the tray in his lap as he carefully offers the full mug of tea to Harry. He looks as miserable as he’d sounded - glassy-eyed with a feverish warmth radiating from his flushed skin, nose red and hair unkempt and beginning to curl. Eggsy clucks his tongue at him, and Harry looks as thunderous as he possible can in such a state - which admittedly, isn’t very intimidating at all.

“I told you not to come near me,” he reminds Eggsy peevishly, gently taking the mug from Eggsy’s hands and trying to keep their fingers from touching as much as possible. Eggsy resists the urge to roll his eyes and nods towards the tea in Harry’s hands, refusing to be baited into an argument.

“Drink your tea, Harry,” he says, starting to pick open the little packet of medicine, “and take one of these - they’ll make you feel better, though the virus just has to run its course. Should make the nasal stuff more tolerable, though.”

“If it rids me of some of this nasal stuff, that’s all I can hope for at this point,” Harry makes a face but blows across the surface of his tea before sipping it. He takes the pills Eggsy drops into his palm and washes them down with some tea, cupping the warm mug close. “All right; you’ve seen to my hydration and medication. Out - before you catch this dreadful flu and end up as miserable as I am.”

“So you admit to being miserable,” Eggsy cracks a grin, and Harry levels him with a withering glare and doesn’t respond. Eggsy chuckles, and sets the tray to the side so he can scoot closer to Harry - which Harry does protest to, though because he refuses to touch Eggsy it’s rather a futile attempt.

“ _Harry_ ,” Eggsy insists, sighing and wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle and the covers, which he’s pulled up to his chest, “Whether or not you get me sick, I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you. If you spend all your energy worrying about things, you’re not going to get any better. You’re not an agent when you’re sick; you don’t have to fight this by yourself.”

Harry relaxes marginally at that, and Eggsy hugs him tighter; Harry really is quite warm from the fever, nestled deep under the covers of the guest-room bed, and after a moment Eggsy releases him and sits up, patting Harry’s knee.

“Come on,” he says, “at least don’t keep yourself isolated in here like this. Let’s get you installed on the sofa and we’ll put on crap on the telly until you feel well enough to complain about it, and then you’ll go back to bed - our bed.” Harry sighs but agrees with a small smile, and lets Eggsy bundle him out of bed and down the stairs to the sitting room with minimal complaining. Eggsy sits on the sofa with Harry’s feet across his lap - a compromise, Eggsy’s firm on reassuring Harry that he can’t catch the flu from his _feet_ \- and they sit in companionable quiet through the afternoon to the soft sounds of whatever Eggsy’s put on the telly and JB’s rumbling snores.

Harry falls asleep just like that - face pressed into the pillows at the back of the sofa, glasses askew and mouth a little open. Eggsy carefully slips away to make two more mugs of tea, and manages to take his seat again without Harry waking up.

“Really,” he says fondly, brushing Harry’s limp hair away from his face with a small smile, “as stubborn as Daisy, you are.”

He presses a kiss to Harry’s warm forehead and settles in to whatever film’s on, smiling to himself. Harry himself would’ve objected to the kiss, were he awake - but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him. At the worst, it would make Eggsy sick too; Eggsy grins. He knows he’s a better patient than Harry, at the least.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	4. Hartwin: Snowed In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Fluff, domesticity, snowed in.

 

“’S a right mess out there,” Eggsy grimaces, letting the heavy curtain fall closed on the window. There’s no point in trying to discern the weather any further - the fact that he can’t see the houses across the way through the dense, white snow is evidence enough that London’s at the heart of a snowstorm. There aren’t even any footprints in the building blanket of snow - though whether that’s because no one has venture outside into the weather or the snow is coming down quickly enough to cover any marks made in it, Eggsy doesn’t know.

Harry sets Eggsy’s mug of tea on the bedsides table as Eggsy himself flops onto the duvet, face-down, grumbling incoherently.

“What was that, darling?” Harry asks, patting Eggsy’s robe-covered shoulder. He watches in amusement as Eggsy groans and flips himself over lazily, reminiscent of a certain pug they’re both well acquainted with.

“There’s no going to the shop today,” Eggsy whines, wriggling a little to better position himself for blinking and then pouting up at Harry. “There’s no _spy business_ to be done.”

“I’m glad you love your job so much,” Harry says, a small smile on his face, “but the international espionage community will still be there after the blizzard. Even organized crime - and _disorganized_ crime, for that matter - takes breaks for snow days.”

Eggsy grumbles again, unsatisfied with that response, and Harry laughs. He takes one last sip of his tea before setting it to the side as well, and then tugging Eggsy forward by the ties in his robe so that he’s curled up against Harry’s side.

Despite his ire, Eggsy relaxes into Harry’s touch and snuggles closer; the house is heated well enough, but there’s nothing like getting close to Harry to fight off the cold weather.

“How about we put it this way,” Harry says, stroking up and down his shoulder after a moment of consideration, “we may not get to be spies today, but that doesn’t stop me from being your boyfriend. And while we can’t go out, that’s all the more reason to stay in - and stay in _bed_.”

Eggsy raises his eyebrows as he meets Harry’s eyes, and can’t help but concede in his mind that it sounds like a pretty brilliant idea.

“Make up a fire,” Harry nods to the fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, “spend the day in our pajamas, only get up so I can cook something edible before heading back to bed.”

“I’m already starkers under this robe from last night and you know it,” Eggsy points out, a smirk beginning to work its way onto his face. “So’re you, Harry.”

“Then it shouldn’t take much to seduce you, should it, my dear?” Harry purrs, sliding one warm hand up Eggsy’s thigh and underneath his robe, and Eggsy chuckles even as his heart rate rockets and Harry curls forward until their lips meet - and maybe being snowed in for the day isn’t such a bad thing, after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	5. Hartwin: Sharing Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Domesticity, fluff, sharing clothes.

“What’s this, then?” Harry’s voice asks, murmured softly and muddled a little in Eggsy half-asleep brain. There’s no way Harry can be here, he remembers despite the fog of dreams still swirling in his mind. This must be one of those - Harry’s in Manila, isn’t due back for another week yet - so his appearance here at home must just be a dream. A pleasant one, though; Harry’s voice is always a balm, to Eggsy.

There’s a soft tug as the dressing gown shifts around him - Harry’s, but his in Harry’s absence - and Eggsy mumbles for JB to settle down. But the silk moves again, pinched a little on one side, and there’s a warm weight against his side and suddenly he’s moving, he’s up, and the sensation jolts Eggsy out of sleep enough to blink his eyes open, and look up into Harry’s softly smiling face as he’s carried to bed.

“You don’t wait up every night I’m away on the sofa, do you?” Harry asks, and Eggsy blinks at him, still processing the sight of Harry, home so early. He mumbles in reply, settles for just wrapping his arms slowly and languidly around Harry’s neck and snuffling into his shoulder, and Harry chuckles.

Eggsy loses time between when Harry pulls back the covers and lays him down in bed and when Harry returns from changing out of his suit and brushing his teeth, but as soon as the bed dips, signaling Harry’s return, Eggsy shuffles over. He nuzzles into Harry, tucks his head into the perfect space of Harry’s neck and twines their legs, chest to chest. Harry reaches under Eggsy’s - his - red dressing gown to skim his hands along the tender skin of Eggsy’s lower back and Eggsy stretches, cat-like, already further towards sleep than wakefulness again.

“And this?” Harry tugs on the robe’s tie, loose where it is at Eggsy’s hip - the robe’s Harry’s, after all, and is always baggy enough on Eggsy that it’s not worth knotting at his waist. Eggsy cracks an eye open to assess Harry’s fond smile and doesn’t bother with wasting energy on a pout.

He yawns. “’S ‘cause it smells like you when you’re not here,” he slurs sleepily, and Harry’s fingers flex on his skin, a possessive, reflexive caress. Eggsy leans up, presses a kiss to the juncture of Harry’s shoulder and neck before settling back into his pillow, content.

He smiles as he yawns again, tangles one of his hands with Harry’s between them. “Ain’t nothing compared to the genuine article, though.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	6. Hartwin: "It's only fair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Smut, sex toys, plugs, teasing.

 

Eggsy looks over his bare shoulder at the sound of Harry’s breath hitching behind him, something like a muffled gasp - and smirks, all too coquettish, and arches his hips so the curve of his spine bends further, so the pert roundness of his arse is presented perfectly for Harry’s gaze - as is the fat base of the plug nestled there.

“You,” Harry says, tense in a way that means his breath’s been wrangled from his chest at the sight, that he’s awash with a sudden wave of lust that’s left him reeling from the rush of blood south - and that’s perfect, that’s exactly as _planned_ , and Eggsy only smirks wider.

“Me?” Eggsy asks, feigning innocence as he runs his hands down his naked body, down to his arse - where he palms a cheek in each hand and spreads, gently, so Harry can see what Eggsy’s done with himself just so. He can feel the firm jiggle as he lets go, grins cat-like at the enraptured, mesmerized look in Harry’s eyes as they go wide and dark, more pupil than iris.

“You’ve-” Harry’s hands hover in the air, like he’s not quite sure where to put them, and Eggsy’s heart picks up at the heat coming off him - Harry’s still fully clothed and he’s deliciously stripped bare, and the cool of the air gives way to the warmth of Harry’s body as he steps closer. “ -been naughty, I see.”

Eggsy laughs, bright and edging on breathy - Harry’s got a palm spread across the small of his back, now, covering the dimples between his hips to push him gently into a further arch. Harry doesn’t touch, not yet, but Eggsy can feel the weight of his stare between his legs, just as hot and heavy as the plug filling him up.

“’S only fair,” Eggsy swallows, smirk slipping as Harry’s hands flit down, cup the cheeks of his arse, squeeze before darting between to play with the rim of his hole and the smooth finish of the plug. “You teased me to _bursting_ on the Moscow job; didn’t think I wouldn’t find a way to get back at you, eh?”

Get back at Harry, indeed - Eggsy’s the one with a plug up his arse - but it’s not a hardship, not with the ragged exhales Eggsy can feel against his back, the low groan in the base of Harry’s throat when he feels how slick and loose Eggsy is already, wiggling a finger in next to the plug and tracing around his rim.

“It’s _silver_ ,” Harry grates out, and Eggsy tips his head back, tilts his hips into Harry’s hands, more than ready for Harry to get to the matter at hand.

“For you,” Eggsy says, and twists so he can meet Harry’s eyes, “Now, are you gonna keep me waiting all night, or are you going to privilege me with your-”

Harry doesn’t need to be asked twice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	7. Eggsy & Roxy: University AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> University!AU, best friends, _they were roommates_ , implied student-teacher relationship.

 

“Roxy,” Eggsy whines, voice staticky and a little nasal through her mobile’s speakers, “C’mon, it’s been hours, come back and study with me! I need more help in _The British Novel_ than you need in _Intro to Neurolinguistics_.”

Roxy rolls her eyes, biting her lip as she listens to Eggsy moan his complaints - her silent but visible exasperation earns her a smirk from Gazelle, who kicks her gently for still being on the phone in the middle of their study session.

“ _You_ ,” she replies to Eggsy, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice, “just want a good test score so you can impress Professor Hart in hopes of shagging him!”

“A boy can dream,” Eggsy sighs, and Roxy laughs, tilting forward to rest her elbows on her open textbook. She’s cross-legged on Gazelle’s dorm-room floor, still trying to memorize the history of Neurolinguistics for their upcoming test. Gazelle’s miraculously patient, for how intensely interested and already knowledgeable she is in the subject, and Roxy’s glad - for several reasons - that she’d agreed to be Roxy’s tutor.

“Still,” Eggsy continues, “Fuckin’ George Eliot, if you can’t explain _Middlemarch_ to me then no-”

Eggsy’s cut off as Gazelle reaches over and plucks the mobile out of her hand, nestling it against her ear as she smirks at Roxy, blinking coyly.

“Unwin,” she says, polite and cool and smooth like she always is, and Roxy grins at the barely-audible spluttering from Eggsy though her phone, “Roxy and I are trying to study; the sooner you let us get to it and finish, the sooner she’ll be free to coach you through seducing your English teacher.”

Roxy laughs, full-throated, too occupied in meeting Gazelle’s dark, amused eyes to pay any attention to Eggsy’s faint swearing and whining. She grins at Gazelle, who rolls her eyes at whatever Eggsy’s saying, and cuts him off with, “I don’t care how blue you think your balls are; a test score isn’t going to impress him if he’s your Professor. Read him some James Joyce or something.”

“Gazelle,” Eggsy grouses, loud enough for Roxy to hear, “Come on, mate - give her _baaaack_.”

Roxy’s smile fades as Gazelle holds her gaze, considering and then, in a blink, something more flirtatious and sly. “You know,” she says, unfolding from where she’s sitting cross-legged across from Roxy, reaching over to flip closed the lid of Roxy’s textbook and set it aside - so that, with the easy grace of a dancer, she can climb into Roxy’s lap and take its place, “I don’t think I want to.”

She hangs up without waiting for a reply and drops Roxy’s phone to the side, settling her hands around Roxy’s neck. She smirks, eyes going half-lidded when Roxy returns the smile and slides her hands up Gazelle’s thighs to rest on her hips.

“That was smooth,” Roxy admits, tilting her head up to meet Gazelle’s gaze.

Gazelle chuckles. “Neurolinguistics,” she says, leaning in and flicking a glance at Roxy’s mouth, “I’ll teach you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	8. Hartwin: "As you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Fluff, exasperated Merlin, flirting.

 

It is, Harry isn’t quick to admit, a bit more enjoyable to order Eggsy around than he had originally thought. Which is a surprise in and of itself, because Eggsy’s got a bit of an attitude, still, has a bit of a thing about listening to his superiors - which is to say, he doesn’t - and his reaction to being asked to do something is often to quip, complain, feign reluctance and, eventually, do as he’s told. So it is rather amusing in the first place, even when the things he’s asking of Eggsy are menial, or requests - _Let’s not blow up an embassy today, Galahad - Return with your gadgets intact to Merlin at the end of this next mission, please, you’re going to give him ulcers - For god’s sake, Eggsy, JB’s drooling on my Oxfords._ Still: it’s more amusing than expected.

Something shifts when Harry says to Eggsy - part order and part genuine concern, “Please return to HQ unharmed,” and Eggsy shoots him a look, smiles despite the confusion in his eyes and dips his head into a nod. He returns from Cuba as unarmed as one can ask of a spy, and smirks at Harry despite the split in his lip and the cuts in his tailored suit.

Harry asks the same of him when Eggsy’s sent out a week later to Malta, and again later that month on reconnaissance in Egypt; that’s the first time Eggsy’s expression is more muted, nodding sharply and Harry chalks it up to the seriousness of the mission that he doesn’t quip back.

But he’s back with more sarcastic replies and quick-talking soon enough, smirking when Harry asks him to remove his feet from the table when they’re debriefing in the dining room.

“Would it kill you to do as your told the first time you’re given an order?” Harry asks, exasperated, and Eggsy grins.

“Depends on the order,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows - the of course is implied.

And then - well, Harry’s either getting better at conveying to Eggsy which of his orders are the most important, or Eggsy’s getting better at listening, because he does. He returns a flash drive in mint condition from Bruges; he keeps JB at heel so he doesn’t get underfoot and trip Merlin; he acts as backup to Roxy when she delegates a meeting with kidnappers and it all goes perfectly smooth.

He also starts responding to Harry’s serious requests with a smile and “As you wish,” which Harry takes for his sense of humor and _message received_ until Merlin’s in the room, once, and gives Harry a _look_ when Eggsy walks out.

“That’s new,” he says, fussing with his clipboard and tilting his head at Harry, curious.

“What is?” Harry mumbles, organizing the dossier before meeting Merlin’s eyes, brow furrowing.

“Eggsy,” Merlin gestures vaguely, “-and you. I suppose I’m not very surprised; you always had a soft spot for him.”

“Eggsy and I?” Harry blinks in confusing, caught off-guard, “Merlin, there’s no-”

“ _As you wish_?” he asks, eyebrows raised, and several things click into place in Harry’s mind.

“Ah. I -” he glances up, mind whirling, thinking of Eggsy strolling through the shop, out the doors to a Kingsman car; he couldn’t have gotten far in the time-

“Go,” Merlin laughs, and he’s down the stairs with Merlin’s laughter trailing behind him, catching up with Eggsy just as he’s wrenching open the door of the car, and Harry’s heart is strangely pounding as he strides through the door of the shop. The chime of the bell catching Eggsy’s attention and their eyes meet.

“I, ah, forgot to mention the last part of your order,” Harry says, suddenly hyper-aware of the attractive curl of the smile on Eggsy’s lips, the warm sun in his gold hair and the fit of his suit as he waits, poised and expectant, for Harry to continue. “I’d rather like - you’re to have dinner with me, upon your return to London. If that’s something you’d - wish.”

He finishes, haltingly, and watches as the smile on Eggsy’s face grows to beaming, eyes lit with mirth. “I was waiting for you to ask.”

“And?” Harry swallows.

Eggsy feigns reluctance, as he is wont - but now Harry can see through it, can see the delight on Eggsy face. He winks, giving Harry a half-shrug like the idea’s acceptable rather than great. “As you wish.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	9. Eggsy & Roxy: "No, you didn't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Merlin/Roxy, implied student-teacher relationship, best friends.

 

“ _No_ , you _didn’t_ ,” Eggsy looks at her, equal parts amused and wide-eyed with shock, and Roxy smirks as she continues to apply her lipstick. Their eyes meet in the mirror and she raises her eyebrows, resisting the urge to give Eggsy a taste of his own medicine and wink at him.

“You and Merlin?” he asks, leaning against the side of the vanity as she presses her lips together, admires the perfect red and grins at herself, then at Eggsy.

“If you and Harry get your heads out of your arses and get _your_ act together,” she says, snapping closed the clasp of her purse, “You’d have noticed something was going on.”

“You and Merlin,” Eggsy shakes his head, as if still wrapping his head around the idea, “Shit, Rox, you don’t do anything by halves.”

Roxy laughs, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then links her arm with Eggsy’s, leads him out to the ballroom where their target - and Harry and Merlin - wait.

“Must take a lot to impress you,” Eggsy continues, even as his eyes scan the room for Harry - Roxy knows that’s what it is, even if Eggsy brushes it off as reconnaissance. “What’d Merlin do to seduce you, eh?”

“It was really rather the other way around,” Roxy replies airily, and watches with delight as Eggsy nearly trips on his own feet.

“Shit, yeah?” his look of surprise slowly gives way to a smile, and he leans in close, conspiratory. “You gotta show me, then - y’know, for Harry?”

Roxy meets Merlin’s eyes across the room, sees the way he tracks their movements and how his brow furrows with Eggsy leaning in so close to her - and, next to him, Harry’s face doing exactly the same.

“Oh, I think I have some ideas,” Roxy grins.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	10. Hartwin: Knights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Medieval!AU, Knight Harry and Eggsy, fluff, pining, implied student-mentor relationship.

 

There isn’t an inn or tavern for miles, not on this stretch of packed dirt road through the hillsides and heath, but they’re able to pay a farmer for the use of his barn for the night. It’s better than nothing. The fall weather creeps closer every day - wet fog curling at the base of the hills, over the still deep waters, chilly dew and mottled skies following them wherever they go.

They dry off their horses and spread out the saddles for the night - there’s no way it will all completely dry, but it’ll help to air them out - and then make an attempt to dry out themselves. Their armor can be unbuckled and wiped clean, but there’s no getting the damp out of their tunics and surcoats and hose.

Eggsy talks as they set about their work - he always does, and Harry interrupts here and there with wry comments or prodding directions, which Eggsy takes in stride - but otherwise Harry lets him talk, lets his words roll over him and echo up into the rafters of the barn, weaving together with the murmur of the rain.

“I’m ready, you know I am,” Eggsy says when they finally settled down in the hayloft, the crush of hay underneath them the most comfortable bedding they’d had in a week, “My sword techniques are good enough for the ring, I’ve always been good on horses, you just need to teach me the joust-”

“The joust is no trifling matter,” Harry says with almost a sigh, tugging off his surcoat and folding it to use as a pillow, stretching out just in his tunic and hose. Eggsy follows suit, kicking off his boots with a stubbornness that meant this conversation was far from over.

“I _know_ ,” Eggsy grouses, “but it’s the only part of tournaments I’ve not trained in-”

“You’re not ready for tournaments.”

“Harry,” Eggsy whines, and feels his resolve start to chip away.

“We don’t have the proper equipment to even train for such a thing, out here,” he says finally, and he can see Eggsy’s bright grin in the darkness, “and I won’t promise we’ll train for it even when we return to Camelot. But I’ll - talk to Merlin, and we’ll consider it.”

Eggsy pumps his fist in delight, arching his back to stretch up and then flops, spread-eagle in the hay, before curling back up and turning on his side to face Harry.

“Thanks, Harry,” he murmurs, voice brimming with excitement and enthusiasm despite the late hour.

“We rode _leagues_ today,” Harry mumbles, “you should be more tired.” But he cracks an eye and grins at Eggsy anyways, unable to help himself at smiling at his squire’s delight.

“I am,” Eggsy replies, and promptly yawns. He wriggles a little further into the hay, adjusting his surcoat and nudging closer so he can stick his cold toes under Harry’s calf. “’Night, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Eggsy,” Harry says quietly, and preoccupies himself with listening to the rain as his mind drifts.

 

He’s somewhere between sleeping and waking when Eggsy speaks again, some indeterminate time later - quietly enough that Harry thinks maybe he only imagined the sound in the swaying of trees and the wind against the barn outside.

“ _Harry_ ,” Eggsy whispers, and then a few beats later when Harry doesn’t answer, “Galahad - _Harry_.”

Harry doesn’t respond, doesn’t move; if Eggsy isn’t getting up to shake him awake, it’s nothing that can’t wait until morning to address. Eggsy will just have to wait ‘til then, when Harry’s preferably had some decent sleep.

But apparently his silence is what Eggsy was waiting for.

“I know you think I want to enter a tournament - to joust - for the glory of it,” Eggsy whispers into the darkness between them, voice soft and bare, “’s really not it, Harry. I mean, yeah - I’ve always wanted to joust, but it’s more like-”

He hears Eggsy exhale messily, lick his lips as he gathers his thoughts, and Harry keeps himself as still as possible, keeps his breathing even so Eggsy doesn’t know that he’s not actually asleep.

“ - I need to prove it to myself, that it’s something I’m strong enough to do, that leaving mum an’ Daisy was the right choice, that becoming a knight and -” Eggsy runs a hand over his face, swallowing, “You chose me; I wasn’ born into this, so I want to prove it to you, to.”

He’s silent for a while after that, shifting in the scratchy hay, and Harry wills himself to relax, wills his fingers not to clench, stops himself from looking over at the remarkable man at his side. Eggsy wriggles his toes underneath Harry’s leg, and sighs again.

“Two months ago,” he murmurs, “when I cut myself, because it was too hot to be wearing maille even though you warned me anyways - you used your handkerchief to tie my arm, and you never asked for it back.”

Harry remembers it well; it struck a lovely contrast the deep blue of it against the flushed color of Eggsy’s skin, and he’s distracted enough by the memory that he almost doesn’t hear Eggsy’s reply.

“I kept it,” Eggsy confesses, hoarse with honesty. Harry’s nostrils flare. “I thought that - I’d wear it, you know, under my armor. As a - as a token. ‘S not quite the same, since you didn’t quite give it to me like the ladies do at the tournaments, but…”

The barn creaks in the wind, and Harry’s ears strain as he waits with bated breath for Eggsy to finish.

“It’s my pleasure to serve and fight for Sir Galahad,” he finally says, and Harry feels the gentle tug of his tunic sleeve as Eggsy fists a hand in it, careful not to wake Harry with the movement, “But I want to _champion_ for Harry. D’you get me?”

Harry can’t nod or reply - even if he hadn’t been feigning sleep, and Eggsy soon passes into sleep, snoring gently at his side. Harry stays awake far longer, turning over his words in his mind. The rain doesn’t let up all night.

_I want to champion for Harry. D’you get me?_

Yes, Harry thinks. He rather does.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	11. Hartwin: Up Against a Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Smut, fingering, anal, dirty talk, mission sex,

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy groans, grits his teeth and bites down on the swollen curve of his lower lip, “ _yes_.”

“If you could keep your voice down,” Harry advises in a murmur, “that would be prudent, considering the situation at hand.”

“The situation at hand, hah,” Eggsy huffs a breathless chuckle, arching his back and pressing back into Harry, fucking himself on Harry’s finger. “Funny. It’s your hand that - oh, Christ.”

Harry adds a second finger, a little fast, just on this side of rough - and Eggsy moans, so quiet and low in his throat that it’s almost a growl, his greedy arse taking the stretch beautifully, clenching around him.

Eggsy loves the burn, Harry knows it; he loves to push his body, stretch it to its limits so he’s aching days later. He loves getting carried away with the moment, letting himself crash into desperation like waves breaching a wall, ever hungry for more, sloppy and rough. Harry gladly meets him halfway.

Harry presses his palm to the dimples at Eggsy’s back, urging him to arch further into the angle, bending just so - so when Eggsy slides back and Harry curls his fingers it’s like a spark shoots through Eggsy, and he pleas profanities through gritted teeth.

“Harry,” he whines, licking his lips and panting harshly, “not gonna wait much longer if you don’t - god, get in me, need you inside me yesterday, damn it- ”

“Patience,” Harry mutters, scrambling for his own belt now, and Eggsy snorts, circling his hips, resolutely keeping his hands off his own cock but doing what he can to fuck himself on Harry’s fingers, riding the sensation.

Harry tugs down his trousers and pants enough for his cock to spring free, pulling his fingers free to rut against Eggsy’s arse while he rummages in his jacket pocket for the little packet of lube, ignoring Eggsy’s whining about being too slow and not wanting to bother, _just fuck me already, Harry_ \- but for all his complaining he goes beautifully still and breathlessly quiet when Harry slides into him, moaning long and wordless when Harry bottoms out, filling him up.

Harry gives it to him quick, a little rough, snapping his hips in a brutal tempo that Eggsy loves, if his endless litany of meaningless vowels and scattered swears are anything to go by. He chants Harry’s name as Harry pounds into him, hole twitching when Harry’s cock grazes across his prostate, fingers scrabbling at the wall for purchase as he’s fucked, edging closer and closer to orgasm.

That’s when Harry starts talking.

“You love this,” Harry says, clenching his teeth as he pushes in again and again, pulling nearly all the way out so Eggsy can feel the full length of him as he shoves in, fucks into Eggsy’s pliant body. “Can’t help yourself so we never make it to a bed before the mission’s over.”

“If - ah,” Eggsy gasps as Harry nudges against his prostate again, and he shudders against the wall, “if either of us is able to talk, you’re not fucking me hard enough.”

He clenches down on Harry just to make his point, and Harry’s hips stutter, rhythm interrupted, before he starts up again even faster. He mouths at the nape of Eggsy’s neck, leaves open-mouthed bites there before dragging Eggsy backwards, changing the angle one more time. He bends himself over Eggsy’s back so he can reach around and get a hand on Eggsy’s cock, spreading the viscous, dripping moisture at the tip and squeezing, moving his hand in time with his deep, punishing thrusts.

“You do love it,” Harry says, voice ragged and hoarse, “You tart.”

Eggsy grits his teeth and keens as he comes, muscles clenching and fluttering on Harry’s cock, and Harry fucks him through it, rides him through his orgasm to chase his own - it only takes a few more thrusts until he pushes in once more and jerks, filling Eggsy as they both moan at the sensation.

“Fuck,” Eggsy squirms against him, still speared open on Harry’s cock. “won’t be able to sit still the entire plane ride home, now.”

Harry snorts and then hums, rocking his hips so he slides just a bit in and out, making them both shiver, over-sensitive. “If you’d like to complain, I’d like to remind you that this is, in part, of your own doing.”

“You kiddin’?” Eggsy chuckles, looking over his shoulder at Harry, and tugging him closer for a kiss. “Being sore’s half the fun.”

Harry cracks a grin, leaning in for another kiss, nipping at Eggsy’s lower lip as he pulls away. “And the other half?”

Eggsy clenches down on him again, and Harry shudders, nostrils flaring.

Eggsy smirks. “Thinking how to get you to fuck me like that again.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	12. Hartwin: Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Hurt/comfort, Harry lives, grief (sort of), relief.

 

When their eyes meet, it’s like a punch to the chest.

The air is knocked out of his lungs and tears spring into his eyes, as if of their own accord, tension somewhere in his throat going spring-tight as he rakes his gaze over - over _Harry_.

He’s worse for wear - there’s a bandage wrapped around his head and his hair has clearly been shorn away as needed for surgery, leaving it shaggy and uneven on his left side, but - despite the tired lines on his face and the unflattering hospital gown and the IV lines and monitors tethering him to the machines in the room - despite it all, Harry’s alive.

The weight of grief that had lodged itself behind his breastbone has melted, dissolved, and Eggsy finds himself stepping forward like he’s floating, like this is a dream, to take a place at Harry’s side. Harry’s heart monitor is a steady rhythm, a tempo Eggsy tries to echo with his own breathing, to calm the rabbit-fast beating of his own heart in his ears, mind racing with thougts: Harry’s alive. Harry’s alive.

He clasps Harry’s hand in his own trembling ones, running his fingers across the strong bones of Harry’s knuckles, trying not to crush his wrist in his grip.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, softly.

Eggsy tears his eyes away from Harry’s hand between his to catch Harry’s eyes; they’re leaking, too, a steady beading trickle down Harry’s face just as Eggsy’s is pink and tear-tracked, eyelashes clumpted together wetly.

“Shut up,” Eggsy chokes out, hoarsely. He swallows, feeling the knot in his throat loosen as he breathes through the emotions, feel them course through his blood and ripple across his mind: shock, relief, joy, awe.

Harry’s not intubated, but there is a mask pulled down over his mouth and nose. The transparent plastic of it fogs and clears, with each exhalation Harry makes. Eggsy soaks in the little details, the evidence that Harry’s here, that Harry’s real.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, again, tender and yearning, and Eggsy’s lungs constrict with that old ache, bittersweet.

“Shut up, Harry,” he breathes, nearly gasps through the tears. “Just-” He gathers up Harry’s hand, careful not to disturb the lines at the crook of his elbow, and presses it to his lips, keeping it there as his eyes leak onto Harry’s knuckles. Harry doesn’t complain if his grip is too tight, if the bones in his wrist press together under Eggsy’s. He’s quiet, tired, patient as Eggsy trembles, lets the tide of it shake through him, until he’s hollow but clean. Lighter.

“Eggsy,” Harry whispers, and when their eyes meet, he smiles.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	13. Hartwin: Gymnastics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Gymnastics, teasing, flirting, competency kink.

 

Eggsy did miss it, the gymnastics; he’s lucky that Kingsman has a very well-equipped gym, and he’s able to add some basic exercises to his workout routine to get back on the horse. He does dynamic stretches, a cardio warm-up, towels off the damp nape of his neck before the chalks up his hands and heads for the bars - or the pommel horse, or the rings.

It takes a lot of strength and coordination, rhythm and muscular _power_ and at first it isn’t easy; for all that he has some lingering muscle memory, he’s filled out more in the years since he’s done this regularly, and his center of gravity has shifted. It takes time, but he’s nothing if not determined.

He strips out of his sweats and works out just in just spandex - loose cloth and pommel horses don’t mix well - and it’s a pleasant burn, an athletic challenge to get his body to move like this again. Soon he adds more complex moves to his routine, can bend a little further, launch himself a little higher, twist a little faster. It’s exhilarating, to catapult upwards through the air and feel his hands connect soundly bar again, to dismount of the beam and land with perfect, flat feet on the mats.

It’s doing _wonders_ for his core strength, too, and his free-running is sharpening to expert levels.

That’s when he starts noticing that Harry watches.

Eggsy’s not _trying_ to be showy; that’s just what gymnastics is about. Tumbling passes are perfect for practicing how to land from a fall, how to enter a fight again as seamlessly as possible. The rings are giving him endurance and balance; the horse, improved hand coordination, and all of it an improved sense of his own body and how he can move it.

But he can’t resist, when it’s been more than a week of Harry lingering in the gym’s doorway to watch him.

Eggsy’s doing post-workout static stretching on the floor, muscles warm and loose and deliciously sore. And he knows he’s flushed - he always is - and glistening a little with sweat. When he gets the idea into his head, he goes for it - even if his body isn’t quite up to the extremity of the stretch.

He cants his hips so he can spread his legs as far as they’ll go - an obscenely wide split, by all accounts, he can feel his inner thighs ache - and then bends forward, resting his elbows on the floor in front of him and arching his back to put his arse on display. Between the taut spandex and the pose he’s in, Eggsy _knows_ what he looks like.

Harry’s behind him, getting an eyeful, and Eggsy can hear his sharp intake in breath - right before he watches Harry walk _into a wall_ in the reflection of the gym’s mirrors.

Eggsy smirks. _Score_.

If this is what works for Harry, Eggsy thinks, well - he can work with that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	14. Hartwin: Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Flirting, oral fixation, teasing, ice cream, distractions.

 

_This_ , Harry thinks to himself, _is entirely unfair._

They’re standing out in the July heat, watching the latest round of agent recruits - testing for _Tristan_ mantle, Kingsman still isn’t up to its full roster - run laps around the manor’s sprawling campus with their puppies. They really don’t need babysitting, but Merlin thought it a wise precaution - if not for the recruits, for their dogs.

He and Eggsy lean against the marble railing of the manor steps, in their shirtsleeves because of the stifling heat; it’s a cloying, humid beast pressing down on them, the kind of heat that turns anyone sweat-slick after only minutes under the sun. Harry doesn’t envy the recruits for the paces Merlin is putting them through. He’s not the one running - or cajoling stubborn terriers - but sweat still curls at the nape of his neck, dampens and darkens his hair at his temples, soaks through where his shoulder-holsters press his shirt tight against his skin. Even the marble at his back is hot, sun-baked and warm in the swelter of the early afternoon.

But it’s not just the heat that’s making Harry sweat:

Eggsy’s got an ice cream cone.

It’s ridiculous; Harry has _no idea_ where he could have gotten it at the manor - the biscuit cone part, at the least. And of course it’s so hot that no matter how enthusiastic Eggsy is about eating his snack, he can’t keep up with how it melts. It’s already significantly shorter and sloppier than it had been when he’d started, glistening wetly in the heat - and not just because Eggsy keeps licking at it.

Harry shifts against the wall, unable to keep his eyes on the recruits. Liquid ice cream leaks from the cone, dribbles down Eggsy’s knuckles and drips onto the ground, to Eggsy’s muttered _oh, fuck_. He slurps at the leak obscenely, tongue darting out to lick at his fingers, catching every drop that spills onto his skin.

Sweet _Christ_ , as if the sun isn’t making Harry hot enough.

Eggsy’s tongue is pink, lips red as they part for every lascivious stroke; he actually moans when he flattens his tongue against the ice cream and licks upwards, gathering the sweet cream on his tongue. His eyes are closed, head tipped to show the flush of his throat in the heat of the sun. His cheeks hollow when he draws the dessert into his mouth and sucks and _fuck_ , Harry’s had just about enough of this - this pornographic tease. His trousers are tight in a way bespoke tailoring can’t hide; it’s a good thing the recruits are at the far end of their lap.

“Enjoying yourself?” he manages to say, terse if only because prolonged ice-cream based sexual frustration will do that to a man. Eggsy cracks his eyes open, slanting them at Harry with sly mischief, and grins silently as he goes in for another lick.

It’s slow, his tongue kittenish and coy, undeniably sexual; Harry can’t look away. But when he does look up to Eggsy’s eyes they’re dark and blown wide - Harry doesn’t need the quirk of Eggsy’s eyebrows or his suggestive wink to realize that Eggsy’s been _doing this on purpose._

“You tart,” Harry breathes, and Eggsy’s grin widens.

Eggsy licks his lips as Harry reaches over and grabs his wrist - the one holding the ice cream - and pulls Eggsy in, tugging him closer. His skin is hot to the touch, slick with sweat and sticky; Harry plucks the nearly-empty cone out of his hand and tosses it to the side.

Eggsy opens his mouth to complain, but whatever he was going to say is drowned by a groan when Harry sticks his fingers in his mouth, lapping at his knuckles, sucking off every sweet remnant of ice cream. Harry smirks, keep his tongue plush and soft as he curls it around each of Eggsy’s fingers, licking at the pads and wriggling his tongue between them. Eggsy’s mouth has fallen open in a round O, and it’s his turn to stare as his fingers disappear into Harry’s mouth, wet and slick.

Harry pulls away from Eggsy’s fingers with a filthy, wet pop, and Eggsy’s breath hitches. He’s close enough for Harry to feel his shaky exhale; sweat prickles along Harry’s spine, and he can see Eggsy’s throat bob when he swallows.

“You didn’t let me finish that,” Eggsy finally says, gaze flicking from Harry’s eyes to his mouth and back as Harry runs his wet lips across Eggsy’s knuckles.

“Hm,” Harry hums, considering. “I suppose I’d like to have another taste, myself.”

Eggsy breaks out into a smirk and dives for Harry; their glasses fog in mere seconds, and Harry’s quick to get his hands under Eggsy’s shirt to pet the sweat-slick skin of his lower back.

Eggsy’s tongue tastes as good as it looks.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	15. Hartwin: "Take it off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Smut, dirty talk, after-mission sex, frottage, against a wall.

 

There’s something special about after-mission sex; meeting kiss for kiss like punch for punch, with an edge of teeth and the lingering spark of adrenaline. They push themselves so hard on mission, stretch near to the point of breaking - physically, and often mentally - and when they’re safe and back and snap back into themselves, it’s only natural that they have this reaction. Newton’s third law, and all that.

_Yeah_ , Eggsy thinks, trying to steal gasps of breath between Harry’s brutal kisses, _it’s something like that_ \- some kind of cosmic death-life reaction: that for all the violence and death they see (and cause) on missions, in the aftermath they have an equal and opposite reaction.

That reaction happens to be very enthusiastic sex, so Eggsy really can’t complain. For all intents and purposes, karma seems to be on his side.

“You’re thinking again,” Harry murmurs, licking a hot stripe down the side of Eggsy’s neck as he works at unknotting Eggsy’s tie. “I don’t know whether that’s bad form on your part or mine, my dear.”

“You mean- ” Eggsy gasps, arching into Harry and rocking his hips, tilting his neck to the side so Harry can get better access. He’s punch-drunk and sloppy, both of them are; Harry’s leaving wide, pink marks from Eggsy’s ear down to his collarbone, and it doesn’t sting so much as make his heart race and his cock throb. He loses his train of thought; honestly, it’s amazing that either of them are forming sentences.

“Better,” Harry smirks, rucking up Eggsy’s shirt to get his hands on bare skin, pressing Eggsy further against the wall with his weight and height, fingers anchored on Eggsy’s hipbones. Their cocks are pressed together through far too many layers of fabric - Eggsy’s cognizant of the thought only for a moment before Harry rocks them together again, rutting so hard that Eggsy is bodily pressed back against the wall, glasses jostling off his face.

“Fuck, Harry,” Eggsy pants, scrabbling at Harry’s buttons and the clasps of his shoulder-holsters with trembling fingers, “Off, get it _off_ , come on.”

"Would you care to try for an actual sentence?” Harry chuckles into his skin, sliding his mouth against Eggsy’s again and fucking into it with his tongue, slick and hot and wet. He nibbles Eggsy’s lower lip as Eggsy moans, caught up in the flush of Harry against him, the delicious friction of them together. Harry’s hair is falling into his eyes and his glasses are practically fogging over, but he still manages to grin as Eggsy tries once - twice - to get the words out, despite Harry’s excellent distraction techniques.

“You heard me,” Eggsy finally says when he can stop moaning, “Take. It. _Off_.” He manages to enunciate each syllable - Eliza would be fuckin’ proud - and Harry struggles out of his shirt inelegantly, refusing to sever the heated contact between them for even a moment. Eggsy gets temporarily caught in his own shirtsleeves, trying to pull out of them without unbuckling his holster first, and Harry shoves a thigh between his as he wriggles, rutting the length of his cock up and down Eggsy’s. He kisses Eggsy, leaning down into his space, snogging him with every ounce of energy not already poured into the movements of his hips. He tangles his fingers in Eggsy’s hair, changing the angle as he licks into Eggsy’s mouth, and Eggsy groans low in his throat.

The part with a wet pop and Eggsy meets Harry thrust for thrust; they’re burning up together, he can feel the hardness and blood-hot of Harry’s cock through his trousers. The friction, the feel of it, the promise of it - it makes him breathless.

“ _Harry_ ,” he groans, “I could come just like this if you keep it up.”

Harry grins against his skin, nipping at the flushed shell of Eggsy’s ear and rolling his hips, causing Eggsy to practically keen. “Hm, I believe you’re right. Want to bet?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	16. Hartwin: Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Fluff, humor, on a mission, flirting, snow shenanigans, James Bond references.

 

_When in Switzerland,_ Eggsy thinks with a grin as he bends down to the snow at his feet. It’s easy to feign adjusting the clasps on his ski boots; Harry’s doing the same, using his poles to knock the snow off the bottoms of his boots so he can step into his skis. Eggsy gathers the snow into a ball with his mitten-clad hands, unable to keep the mischevious smile off his face.

Harry turns to him to say something just as Eggsy’s arm is winding back; he’s only ten feet away, and Eggsy can see Harry’s eyes narrow and then widen as he lets the snowball fly.

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba- _goddammit_!”

Eggsy’s aim is perfect; the lightly-packed snowball hits Harry squarely on the side of the head, shattering upon impact to rain snow down the collar of his jacket.

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Harry says, trying and failing to look dignified while shaking the snow out of his designer ski jacket. “We honestly don’t have time; we have to keep to the schedule if we’re to arrive at the lodge before- “

Harry manages to duck and avoid the second snowball, frowning now behind his glasses, and though he’s packing another three snowballs together Eggsy can spot the exact moment when Harry makes his decision. Then it’s his turn to duck and roll when Harry lobs a snowball in his direction, even larger than the first one, and it lands square in the middle of his back.

Eggsy gasps and laughs and they circle each other; even in a snowball fight the spy training comes in handy, as Harry employs every trick - strategic and dirty - to get closer and closer, until he’s able to tackle Eggsy to the ground. They land with a muffled thump in the snow, cushioned by the layers of thick winter clothing, now both pink-cheeked and wet from the snow.

“Cheeky bugger,” Harry says. Eggsy squirms underneath him, smirking.

”C’mon, Harry,” he says, not quite whining, “It’s hours ‘til we need to be at the lodge - we could, y’know, find a nice barn-”

Harry groans and rolls his eyes. “So help me, if you make another reference to _Her Majesty’s Secret Service_ while we’re on this mission-”

“- have a roll in the hay,” Eggsy continues, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, arching up into Harry despite the older man’s put-upon sigh. “ _Harry_ , come on.”

”I’ll have you know,” Harry stands, brushing the snow off his knees and out of his hair, “that hay is not nearly as comfortable as it looks in films for - well, _rolling_ in.”

Eggsy’s eyes light up and his smile grows. “Is that a yes, then?”

Harry quirks an eyebrow at him, walking over to his skis and jamming his helmet over his mussed hair. “If you don’t mind it being something more like a bearskin rug in front of a fire rather than a _barn_ , yes.”

Eggsy doesn’t punch the air in victory, as his first instinct is to do, but he does push himself off the ground to trot over to Harry, pulling his neck-warmer down so that he can plant a kiss on Harry’s reddened cheek. Harry smiles at him fondly, waving him away so that he can finish snapping himself into his skis.

“That’s provided, of course,” Harry continues, adjusting the wrist-straps of his poles over his mittens, “that you can _keep up._ ”

And with that he pushes off, slipping easily down the snowy slope with gathering speed, tucking down to deflty jump over a snow-crested log. Eggsy can only swear and laugh and kick on his skis as quickly as possibly, fitting his goggles over his eyes and whooping as he follows Harry down the mountain.

He’s rather sure Harry lets him catch up, but that’s okay. The bearskin rug in the lodge is much nicer than a barn, even though he can’t make the hay sex pun. Eggsy makes do with shag carpet instead, and Harry still keeps his word.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	17. Hartwin: Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Jealousy, implied student-teacher relationship, flirting, first kiss.

 

“Wait a minute. Are you _jealous_?”

Harry stills.

He’d tried to keep his affections for Eggsy close to his chest; first of all, it would have done no good to show any blatant favoritism even after the end of the Lancelot recruitment trials - but that’s not to mention the _age difference_ , their position as co-workers, and the _mentor-student relationship_ they initially had.

It’s a little alarming to think that he hasn’t been nearly as opaque about his feelings as he’d though he’d been, though, and it burns in his chest that he’s being so obvious.

“You _are_ jealous,” Eggsy says with something like dawning wonder, a smirk-turned-grin spreading across his face. It’s admittedly an adorable expression on him - actually, rather _attractive_ , coupled with Eggsy’s skewed glasses and rumpled suit from the impromptu firefight they’d just escaped.

And how could Harry _not_ be jealous? Eggsy had spent the whole evening doing splendidly on his end of this assignment - which was to say, he’d been flirting quite charmingly at the gala’s bar, with men and women alike, sipping martinis and laughing brightly and leaning in to whisper and-

There’s a smudged red mark on Eggsy’s cheek from where he must have wiped away a lipstick-kiss imprint; Harry most definitely does not growl as he corners Eggsy into the nearest wall and tugs his pocket square out of his pocket and leans in to clean it away more thoroughly.

Eggsy’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between Harry’s as he wipes at the mark - gently, despite his irritability - and he catches Harry’s wrist before he can pull away when it’s finally gone.

“You know,” Eggsy murmurs, stroking along the underside of Harry’s wrist with his thumb, “I- Harry, there’s no need for jealousy. ‘M already yours; you’d know that if you’d just asked.”

Eggsy’s blushing prettily by the time he’s finished, and Harry catches it when Eggsy glances down at his mouth before meeting his eyes again. But then Eggsy licks his lips and it’s Harry’s turn for his breath to hitch, anchoring a hand on the wall behind Eggsy as he leans forward even further.

“Still,” Harry finally says, voice roughened with growing desire. “Jealousy is not a becoming trait on a gentleman; you must allow me to apologize.”

“You can put your mouth to better use than that,” Eggsy quips with a grin, eyebrows raised, and pulls him in for a kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Music, dancing, exploring age difference re: music taste, flirting.

 

It’s with a weird kind of pleasure that Eggsy watches Harry try to sit through the set of three songs he’d chosen; he’s not quite _too still_ and not quite _squirming_ \- as a gentleman he’s definitely aiming for something like polite interest despite the discrepancies in their individual tastes. Eggsy knows Harry well enough that it isn’t working in the slightest.

He hadn’t expected Harry to love any of his favorite songs, honestly, but Harry had been game enough to listen anyways, and that’s something to respect - though it is quite amusing to watch him attempt to take in the music without openly wincing.

“And young people enjoy this kind of music,” Harry gestures to Eggsy’s phone as the thumping beat settles and then fades into the next song. Eggsy cracks a grin at the comment. _Young people._

“Yeah,” Eggsy shrugs, “Good to drive to, and for dancing in a club, that sort of thing.”

Harry doesn’t roll his eyes, but from the look on his face Eggsy can tell it’s a close call. “That’s _hardly_ music for dancing. May I?”

Eggsy drops his phone into Harry’s offered palm, and waits as Harry queues up something from youtube with a frown of concentration on his face. After a moment something bold and brassy fills the air, and a man starts crooning over the jazzy melody. Harry sets the phone on the arm-rest of his chair and, to Eggsy’s surprise, stands and offers him a hand.

“May I?” Harry asks with a small smile, and Eggsy raises his eyebrows.

“Really?” Eggsy asks, but heaves himself to his feet anyways, taking Harry’s hand cautiously and trying not to be distracted by the combination of smooth skin and gun callouses against his palm.

Harry clasps their hands together and raises them to shoulder-height, plucking up Eggsy’s other hand to rest it on his own shoulder before settling his palm on the small of Eggsy’s back. Eggsy flushed at the intimacy of the position - he can feel Harry’s breath against his cheek and their chests are almost brushing - but doesn’t have time to think too much on it before Harry is tugging him along into a quick swing-step. Their knees knock together before, ha, Eggsy gets the swing of it - and then they’re making tight circles around Harry’s sitting room to the lively horns and smooth vocals of Frank Sinatra. They must paint quite a picture - Eggsy in his hoodie and trainers, Harry in his version of dressed down in a cardigan that’s soft under Eggsy’s fingers - attempting a triple step in a manner that was probably rather uncoordinated for trained spies.

Eggsy laughs in delight when Harry side-steps and then spins him, quite suddenly surprised to find that he’s having _fun_ , and that it’s quite easy to get caught up dancing what he’d otherwise consider as old fashioned when your partner is Harry Hart. It’s so fun he doesn’t even think twice of leaning up to peck Harry on the lips when the song folds in on itself and slows, saxophones humming a final note over the subtle roll of a cymbal, and Harry brings them to a swaying stop.

Harry looks down at him, fond and amused, and Eggsy’s ears redden, but he doesn’t move out of Harry’s arms.

“Yeah,” Eggsy says, “I could, ah, learn to like it. This kind of music, and the dancing.”

Harry smiles as the strains of piano and horn pick up again. “Then, perhaps, let me teach you a lesson.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote, folks!
> 
> While it exists, you can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


End file.
